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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710440">I Will Never Go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp_oops/pseuds/sp_oops'>sp_oops</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Kingdom (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(it's finan's fault), Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sex, What Have I Done, oops porn, residual trauma after their time with sverri, uhtred bottoms, uhtred cant get it up (until he absolutely cAN)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:55:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp_oops/pseuds/sp_oops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>what if Uhtred and Finan have fucked on and off the whole time</p><p>that's it that's the premise</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Finan/Eadith (background), Finan/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Gisela/Uhtred (background)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Will Never Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Working title for this one was ‘brojobs’ so that about sums that up.</p><p>This is an overwritten purple-prosey brain dump of love but so is the show, I just adore these two idjits and their relationship so much, why not add some fockin, y'know.</p><p>Title comes from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXfKPOIbaF0">this song</a> because I was listening to it while writing this and even though the song means something VERY different, it still just...feels right. So. Yeah. YEAH!</p><p>Takes place at the end of season 4, with flashbacks to the rest of it, so spoilers for everything.</p><p>&lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">“Finan,” says Uhtred, restless and punchy and swatting his sword through the brush, as though that will bring his daughter back, as though Winchester hasn’t been closed to them for twenty-nine days, “Finan, I cannot take it any longer.”</p><p class="p2">Finan leans back from an errant swing. He keeps one eye to the woods, because out here, you never know who could come screaming from the brush. “Aye. Neither can I.”</p><p class="p2">He says it calm because Uhtred needs to hear it calm, but he’s just as ready to crawl from his own skin. He can’t stop thinking of honey-colored hair and eyes that see him down to his bones, a sad smile that hides just as much hell as he does. His chest feels tight at the thought of what’s become of her, but—he’s already broken once before, since the siege started. Uhtred hasn’t yet.</p><p class="p2">He can hold it together for Uhtred.</p><p class="p2">Finan braces his hands on his belt, and waits to be needed.</p><p class="p2">“I can’t. I can’t…” Uhtred falls back against a tree trunk.</p><p class="p2">Finan stands by. “Would you like to take a swing at me, lord.” It isn’t a question.</p><p class="p2">Uhtred stares at him. Finan might tighten his hands on his belt; Uhtred's eyes might follow the flex up Finan’s bare forearms to his shoulders.</p><p class="p2">“Come on,” says Finan. “Get the fight out of you now, before it boils over at camp.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred still hesitates, but the way his gaze goes hungry—he wants it.</p><p class="p2">Finan says, soft, “C’mon, lord.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred pushes off from the tree, walks directly toward Finan. His eyes are blazing, his stride terrifyingly aggressive—but his lips are parted, his mouth soft.</p><p class="p2">Good.</p><p class="p2">Finan ducks the incoming punch and throws one of his own. It grazes Uhtred’s ribs, but Uhtred’s knee is already coming up. Finan ignores it, driving Uhtred back into the tree he just left. They tangle, grunting, fighting. Finan’s blunt nails rake Uhtred’s flank where his shirt’s pulls up, and Uhtred’s bruising grip encircles Finan’s arm. They fall, struggling.</p><p class="p2">Finan’s heart beats wildly; his breath comes short and ragged. He needed this. They both did. Re-oriented, he ducks a wild swing and rolls. Uhtred follows and catches a fistful of Finan’s sleeveless tunic. He shoves Finan back onto the earth with a yell and straddles his thighs, pins his wrists to the leafy ground. Finan struggles half-heartedly, but Uhtred’s weight keeps him down.</p><p class="p2">For a long moment, they stare at one another, panting hard, jaws clenched. Finan wonders, <em>Did I misread him this time?</em> But then Uhtred’s hands leave Finan’s wrists, and he sits back and starts plucking at Finan’s laces.</p><p class="p2">Uhtred finds him hard, and that’s fine, because Uhtred’s hard, too, a fact Finan nudges into again and again as he yanks at Uhtred’s laces, both of them now struggling to free one another until at last Finan feels the faint breeze ‘round his nethers and—Uhtred ducks forward again, plants one hand in the dirt near Finan’s shoulder and then wraps the other—</p><p class="p2">“God, fuck <em>me</em>,” Finan breathes, hips rolling up so hard he nearly displaces Uhtred, who leans closer, bows his head against Finan’s, and smooths his hand over them both.</p><p class="p2">This wouldn’t be the first time. Wouldn’t be the tenth. But every time—always—Finan’s ready.</p><p class="p2">“Fuck,” Uhtred rasps, almost surprised. “I haven’t got grease—”</p><p class="p2">“This is enough,” Finan says. He twists a hand into the knot of Uhtred’s hair; gets them both groaning through clenched jaws. “Come on. Show me how you need it.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred does.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p2">It started innocently enough—that is, innocent as one can be after so long chained to an oar, after surviving the shadows of themselves they became over that long winter.</p><p class="p2">Once Ragnar’s rescued them and the other slaves make off for distant lands, the few of them spend nearly a week there in the grassy meadows of Northumberland. They’ve got no choice, really. Uhtred doesn’t have the strength to travel. And after everything they’ve been through, Finan won’t leave him.</p><p class="p2">So they rest.</p><p class="p2">The poor broken bastard has been coming back to himself, but it’s slow-going. Not that Finan can blame him. Uhtred held morale up on that boat with his bare blistered hands, until his arms shook and his bones splintered. This Ragnar fellow, the women Brida and Hild, they seem to know Uhtred well enough, but none of them can understand the depths of despair they dragged him out of. Not the way Finan can.</p><p class="p2">But Uhtred <em>is </em>coming back to himself. He’s finishing his meals (without Finan's insistence, finally), he’s sleeping through the night, he’s smiling a little. He brushes down the horses. He takes long walks through the wild grasses.</p><p class="p2">On the sixth day, Uhtred’s gone on one such walk when Ragnar starts talk of moving on at the next sunrise. Finan goes looking for Uhtred to tell him as much.</p><p class="p2">It takes a good bit. The man’s near hidden in the tall grasses on an outcropping that looks over the sea. He’s sitting there on his arse, his back to Finan, strands of his hair shining gold in the last light before evening.</p><p class="p2">It isn’t clear that he’s occupied with—<em>personal</em> business—until Finan’s right up on him. Uhtred’s arm works in his lap, and then it goes still at the sound of Finan’s footfalls, and it’s only then that Finan realizes what he’s interrupted and he near trips over his own boots. “<em>Oh,</em> Jesus god—sorry—”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred’s arm falls to his side. “It doesn't matter. I can’t do it.”</p><p class="p2">Finan is half-turned to leave. He <em>should </em>leave; he should tell Uhtred about breaking camp tomorrow, then scamper like his arse is aflame. But Uhtred sounds so weary. There’s an edge of desperation in his voice, one that Finan can’t ignore. He says, “You can’t, er—can’t do what?”</p><p class="p2">“Any of it. Get hard. Sow my seed.”</p><p class="p2">Heat rises in Finan’s cheeks even as it drops low in his belly, swift and unexpected and not entirely unwelcome. He’s got to look out over the meadows. Concentrate on a distant shore. He manages, “Ah.”</p><p class="p2">“I think only of Sverri,” says Uhtred, twisting back to see better. “His evil face. D’you have this problem?”</p><p class="p2">Finan takes a careful step closer, and closer again, until he’s at Uhtred’s side but not facing him. “No, lord. But maybe it’s—you’re alone that’s the problem. We find your Gisela, and then, you—you’ll manage.”</p><p class="p2">“What if I cannot?”</p><p class="p2">He doesn’t know what to do with his hands; he grips his belt. “She’ll be patient with you, if she’s good as you say.”</p><p class="p2">“I don’t want to return to her like this.”</p><p class="p2">Finan breathes in, breathes out. <em>Fuck it</em>. “Let me help, then.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred looks at him, surprised—but doesn’t reject him. “You are not drawn to other men.”</p><p class="p2">It makes the corner of Finan’s mouth draw up. “Due respect, lord. You know nothing about what I’m drawn to.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred manages half a smile, too. He looks out at the horizon. “Then let’s see what you can do.”</p><p class="p2">Finan gets down on his knees beside Uhtred. He doesn’t know where to start, but—Uhtred asked him to stay. Finan tries, “Show me your hands.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred turns his palms up.</p><p class="p2">“It’s no wonder.” Finan’s had years for his own blisters to break and turn to calluses, near smooth with oarwork. Uhtred’s are still raw and torn and healing, and Finan takes them, handles them gently. “There’s part of the problem, see. Once they heal—”</p><p class="p2">“My mind, also.”</p><p class="p2">“Maybe both, aye. But I promise you’ll manage.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred’s eyes are full of trust, the briefest stirrings of hope.</p><p class="p2">It’d put Finan on his knees if he wasn’t there already. He drops Uhtred’s hands and looks away.</p><p class="p2">“Finan,” says Uhtred, “you said ‘help.’ Not talk me in circles. Are you going to show me if my cock still works, or—”</p><p class="p2">Finan reaches over, sifts through soft tunic fabric and then smallclothes and—heat lances through him when he finds Uhtred warm, and wraps his hand around the decidedly un-hard length.</p><p class="p2">Uhtred breathes out harshly. Finan expects to be stopped, but Uhtred just lets his eyes focus on the horizon again, his lips parted.</p><p class="p2">He’s filling in Finan’s hand. Slowly, as Finan grasps and adjusts, but it’s getting there. “Like I said,” says Finan, his voice dark and husky without his permission, “you’ve still got it.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred’s knees spread wider. He’s looking at Finan now, his chest rising and falling. “We shall see.”</p><p class="p2">If that’s not an invitation for more—</p><p class="p2">Finan keeps going. He can stroke now, a bit unsteady in the warm not-quite-damp of it, but Uhtred isn’t complaining. Finan expected the lord might curl in on himself, shamed as much as pleased. Or at least push Finan away. But instead—<em>instead</em>. Uhtred’s head tips back, his eyes closing. His bare throat works. He grips Finan’s wrist, not to stop or guide, but to follow.</p><p class="p2">And now Finan’s so hard he can barely think, lust a sizzling bolt that pins him in place and makes his pulse hammer in his throat and in his cock. He keeps working—strokes, curls of his hand, soft teases with his thumb.</p><p class="p2">Uhtred’s winding up tighter, his muscles twitching. His breathing’s gone unsteady. Finan forces himself to say it: “I can stop.”</p><p class="p2">“Don’t.” Uhtred’s eyes open, dark and eager all at once. Finan’s not sure he’s ever seen that look before; it feels too personal, too much. The trust in it is devastating, the need is undoing him. “Please,” Uhtred adds, hoarse. “Finan—”</p><p class="p2">“All right, then.” Finan’s other hand clenches and unclenches. He wants to touch himself. It wouldn’t take much; he’s certain of that. “Easy. Easy, lord. I’ll see it through.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred’s hips are rolling into Finan’s hand now. His head comes back down; his eyes shut again. His hand tightens on Finan’s wrist, encouraging, and he moans an unsteady, desperate noise. He spills hot over Finan’s knuckles.</p><p class="p2">“That’s it,” says Finan, his hand gliding now, so he tightens his grip the way he likes it for himself, “come on, give me all of it.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred cries out again, moaning. His hips crest on one final jolt, and then his whole body slumps. He heaves for air as, carefully, Finan takes his hand back and swipes it through the grass behind him.</p><p class="p2">Then there’s nothing but the soft silence of the breeze through the grass, some distant birdsong. Uhtred’s panting breaths.</p><p class="p2">Finan’s cock is still twitching in his breeches. He’s trying to keep from gasping, too, from giving up and just rubbing himself through the fabric, and the sight of Uhtred so undone isn’t doing anything to calm him. But Uhtred’s in no state to make a return gesture, if he ever planned on it at all, so Finan—fuck. He knows he’s got to go. He’s got to stand up, and leave, and—</p><p class="p2">Uhtred says, “Get your cock out.”</p><p class="p2">Desire knifes through Finan again, so hard he’s got to bite down on a groan. “Lord?”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred looks over, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “I want to show you my gratitude.”</p><p class="p2">Finan’s laugh does turn to a groan, then. His hands shake as he plucks at his laces, every graze against himself jolting heat through his belly, and then—</p><p class="p2">Then Uhtred’s in front of him, helping with the laces, pushing Finan back onto his elbows, and further still. “Let me,” says Uhtred. “My hands are near useless, but my mouth is not.”</p><p class="p2">“Oh, fuck.” Finan’s head drops back against the grass. The whole sky is open to him, blue and endless; he feels like he could tip into it and never come back. “It’s—it won’t take long. Just a warning. I’m close—<em>been </em>close—”</p><p class="p2">“Finan.” Uhtred’s hovering so near, Finan can feel the heat of his breathing against the bead of moisture gathering at the tip of his cock. “Shut up.”</p><p class="p2">Finan laughs and closes his eyes. “Right. Right, I—oh—<em>Jesus and his saints—”</em></p><p class="p2">Uhtred takes him in to the hilt, his mouth a furnace, his tongue a blissful torment. Finan’s hips arch into it, his hands clench in the grass; he’s breathing raggedly, gasping.</p><p class="p2">Fuck, it’s been a long time since he’s had someone to do this with. It’s sweet as mead and twice as heady. He’d forgotten. He closes his eyes and gives into it and lets himself just <em>feel</em>.</p><p class="p2">Uhtred hums against him in pleasure, circles his tongue, dives back down until Finan’s bumping against the back of his throat. The heat of it, the long, wet strokes, the pleasure shivering through his belly, winding him up tight—all at once, it’s just enough. “Fuck,” Finan croaks, “ah, <em>fuck</em>, I’m—”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred moans and takes it all, his throat working, the heels of his hands braced on Finan’s hips, holding him down as Finan arches and comes.</p><p class="p2">When it’s over, Finan pants at the sky once more. He can’t remember the last time he felt so sated. So content. Uhtred scoots over and drops back onto the grass beside him. Not touching—still close. “Was that thanks enough?” Uhtred asks, a rare curl of delight in his voice.</p><p class="p2">Somehow Finan manages half a laugh. “I think it’ll do.” He glances over to find Uhtred smiling, blissful. Content.</p><p class="p2">“Very well,” says Uhtred. “Though I do not think you came to find me just for that.”</p><p class="p2">“Ragnar wants to move on tomorrow.” But the thought of moving anything is beyond Finan right now. “Came to see what you think of it.”</p><p class="p2">“I think I’m ready. Are you?”</p><p class="p2">“I am.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred’s smile fades just a fraction before he turns to look at the sky again. “Where will you go?”</p><p class="p2">Finan realizes the misunderstanding. “If you think I’m letting you stumble on without me, you’re an arse as well as an idiot.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred’s smile returns, more brilliant than before. “I would welcome you, then. You’re a man of many talents.”</p><p class="p2">Finan grins, too. “So you’re convinced, then. That you can get it up for your woman.”</p><p class="p2">“I am convinced.” Uhtred glances at him once more, almost <em>shyly</em>, then away. “Thank you, Finan.”</p><p class="p2">“Lord,” says Finan, “the pleasure was entirely mine.”</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p2">They do it again.</p><p class="p2">On the road, coming off watch—Uhtred’s healed hand around Finan’s cock, driving himself into the warm cut of Finan’s hip while Finan grips Uhtred’s arse, feels the flex in every unsteady thrust.</p><p class="p2">In Winchester, the night before Athelflaed’s wedding. It’s the first time Uhtred says, “I want you to fuck me,” and Finan nearly comes in his breeches just from the words alone.</p><p class="p2">In Coccham, behind the north barn, late at night, hard and frantic and dirty. <em>Fast</em>. Uhtred desperate to feel Finan inside him. Finan driving him up the wall, boots braced against the earth, Uhtred biting marks into Finan’s shoulder to keep quiet.</p><p class="p2">Finan can’t bite back. Gisela knows about them—hell, the woman encourages it, glad Uhtred’s got someone devoted to him when they’re away—but leaving evidence doesn’t sit well with Finan. Instead he clenches his jaw and shoves his hips up, <em>in</em>. Uhtred whimpers; Finan changes his angle, and Uhtred moans and sighs and comes between them.</p><p class="p2">Only then does Finan let himself do the same.</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p2">They call him <em>Uhtred’s Irishman</em> and he doesn’t stop them—but they don’t seem to understand that the loyalty goes both ways, and Uhtred is every bit <em>Finan’s Half-Dane</em>. The two of them built their trust on the ashes of the chains they burned. They’ve seen the darkest sides of one another without flinching. When there was nothing else, they had each other.</p><p class="p2">Finan’s the one who helps Uhtred keep his head through all Alfred’s scheming in Lunden. Finan’s the one at Uhtred’s side when Skade crashes into their lives, when they get back to Winchester to find Gisela dead, and when they’ve got to flee again.</p><p class="p2">Finan’s the one who gives up his furs and helps Uhtred take a little ale when the lord’s dying in a lean-to tent in the snow outside Dunholm.</p><p class="p2">He tamps his own fear down then, ignoring how it flickers through his heart like a restless sparrow. The others depend on him to handle Uhtred when Uhtred is un-handleable, so Finan does that and more, working to soothe the others as he tries to soothe himself. It’s near impossible, with Uhtred pale and grey-lipped and blinking, unseeing. “I’m afraid you’re dying,” Finan tells him, voice breaking, but even that can't rouse Uhtred from the fever that's set in.</p><p class="p2">When Brida finally arrives and starts telling them all what to do, Finan hands over control, gladly. He's got to take a moment when they pack up camp to grip his unused bedroll in his shaking hands and force himself to breathe slowly. </p><p class="p2">When it’s over, it’s Finan who (once again) is the only person who can get Uhtred to finish his supper. It’s Finan who throws Uhtred his sword in the brawl with Bloodhair. Later, much later, Uhtred corners Finan in a wooded grove and says, “Do you not tire of always coming to my rescue?” And Finan can only answer, “Never.”</p><p class="p2">Finan warns Uhtred of Skade’s influence and seethes at her manipulations. Finan gets Uhtred through Bebbanburg and the losses after, and for once, they forego the fucking; Uhtred just pulls Finan’s arms around himself and shudders. Finan talks the young Uhtred into giving his father a chance. Finan comes to understand first why Uhtred made Athelflaed the new queen of Mercia.</p><p class="p2">It’s Finan who acts as confessor and counselor and lawyer, always.</p><p class="p2">And it’s Uhtred who rewards him with trust and friendship and enough adventures to sustain a man for a lifetime.</p><p class="p2">Finan wonders why it doesn’t hurt his heart when Uhtred lays with other women. Maybe it’s that he’s always known Uhtred’s the hungry sort, and it’s nothing personal. Maybe it’s that from the start, their coupling had no expectations, made no promises, and Finan’s free as he wishes to pursue other women, too. He often does. But when they’re together, Uhtred shares of himself and Finan shares of himself; they take the sharp edges off one another whenever they feel like it, and that’s enough.</p><p class="p2">The company jokes often about following Uhtred into hell. Finan realizes that maybe he’s the only one who actually would. “I would not have you follow me into hell,” Uhtred tells him. “I would have you at my side.”</p><p class="p2">Uhtred’s Irishman just grins, letting the affection in those words settle into his bones and stay there. “Then how would I gawp at your arse?”</p><p class="p2">***</p><p class="p2">Now they’re here, outside Winchester, their loved ones inside walls they can’t breach. It’s not as grim as the winter they spent chained together in Iceland, shivering and sick and miserable, but the feeling, that ever-present terrified hollowness in Finan’s belly—<em>that’s </em>familiar. It’s only soothed when it’s shared.</p><p class="p2">So they share it. Finan on his back, Uhtred overtop him, both their cocks gripped in Uhtred’s hand—not that it can fit all the way around. The lord barely moves his fingers; he’s just giving them something to thrust against.</p><p class="p2">Finan brings his hand in to help, covering them both now, tightening so they’ve got to work for it, so it almost hurts, but—it’s good, too. Fuck, it’s good. “Finan,” gasps Uhtred, their foreheads pressed bruising-hard together, “are you going to come with me—please—”</p><p class="p2">“I’m with you, lord,” Finan manages through his teeth, hips rocking up into the combined clutch of their hands. He and Uhtred move together, breathe together, a rhythm they’ve perfected over years of practice.</p><p class="p2">Finan’s ability to hold back shatters as soon as Uhtred’s brows pull up, his eyes opening wide and vulnerable. Wrecked. Uhtred mouths his name and comes shuddering. Finan’s right there with him, letting the suddenly-slick glide of their cocks fan the sparks in his belly into flames. “Uhtred,” he whispers, and without meaning to, his back arches, his hips grind up, and then he’s lost to it, pleasure surging through him and out of him, gasping as his all his wound-up muscles ride it out until it’s too much, and he collapses back to the earth.</p><p class="p2">They pant together for long moments, Uhtred heavy overtop him, Finan’s other hand now cradling the nape of Uhtred’s neck. Their mouths are barely brushing. Finan should probably glance around to see if anyone’s come to spy, but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to care. If people find out—hell, what’s the harm? Osferth and Sihtric probably knew years ago, which means so did the rest of the company, and they’re still with him. And now that Athelflaed is queen of Mercia, Uhtred is unattached. Swordmates have done far worse.</p><p class="p2">At last they separate. They tuck themselves away and clean their hands on the leaves. They’re kneeling, close but not touching—so like that first time in the grasses of Northumberland, long ago.</p><p class="p2">“Finan,” says Uhtred, and he’s easier now, calmer. “I do not know what I would do if you were not here.”</p><p class="p2">It wouldn’t be the first time Uhtred’s said something like that in the comedown. Sentimental bastard. Smirking, Finan says, “I think you’d find the company of your own hand a fine enough diversion.”</p><p class="p2">“I mean it.” Uhtred’s gaze comes back, kohl-dark and intense as ever, though he’s smiling a little still. “I do not say it enough.”</p><p class="p2">Heat rises in Finan’s face the way it rarely does outside their couplings. “You don’t have to, lord.”</p><p class="p2">“I do. And I will. I will endeavor to say it more often. To show it more often.”</p><p class="p2">Any other time, Finan would think Uhtred’s planning something foolhardy, and this—this tenderness, these words—are meant to soothe a wound as yet unopened. But there’s been no way into Winchester, nothing Uhtred can do.</p><p class="p2">Probably.</p><p class="p2">“You planning something reckless?” Finan asks.</p><p class="p2">“Not yet.” Uhtred braces his hands on his thighs. Finan can practically feel their familiar solidness beneath his own hands. “But with so many days of this siege, I am restless. Who knows what may happen.” Uhtred’s gaze is soft as freshly fallen snow. “I would rather not leave things unsaid.”</p><p class="p2">Finan nods. “Then I hear you.” The woods are quiet. His heart is quiet. He'll see Eadith again, or he won’t; he and Uhtred will fuck again, or they won’t. He has what he has, and that’s enough for now. “Should we get back?”</p><p class="p2">“I would rather we did not.” Uhtred sighs and tips closer to Finan, wraps a hand around the back of Finan’s neck so they can brace their foreheads together once more. “But I suppose we must. Are you still with me?”</p><p class="p2">Finan curls a hand around the back of Uhtred’s neck, too. He looks his lord in the eye and means it with his whole heart when he says, “Into hell and back.”</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yell with me on tumblr @<a href="http://sp-oops.tumblr.com">sp-oops</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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